Unexpected Mercy
by phantomgirl110
Summary: A 12-year-old Meg Giry sets out to prove to her friends that the Opera Ghost does exist. Mostly Leroux-based, elements of ALW. Oneshot.


_The Phantom of the Opera_ © Gaston Leroux and Lord Andrew Lloyd Webber  
Story and Angelique, Brigette, Cerise, Gabrielle, Nichole, Simone, Virginie and Lucille © phantomgirl110

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**Unexpected Mercy**  
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The girl would never let the darkness see her trepidation. Ambling down the stone pathway on skinny legs, swinging an oil lamp in front of her with an equally skinny arm, she acted as if there were actually someone there to observe her fear. _No fear_, she assured herself. She was not afraid. She was 12 years old, practically a grown-up. And certainly not afraid of some musty old cellar.

In had been 25 minutes since she'd left the rest of the _corps_ behind. They'd wished her luck on her "journey". Some of them had giggled at the thought of teasing her upon her quick return, while others, particularly the younger girls, looked as though they weren't confident that she _would_ return. "Don't worry," she had assured them, throwing back her curls the way she had seen La Carlotta throw hers hundreds of times. "He is friends with Maman. He won't hurt me."

La Sorelli had rolled her eyes dramatically. "There is no 'he', silly little fool!"

"Yes there is, and I will prove it!" And with that, she had marched off into the darkness.

Now she moaned. Her legs were tired after nearly half an hour of walking down stairs. She had never imagined walking down them could be as strenuous as going up. Suddenly realizing that she would eventually have to go back up all those staircases, she dropped the lantern to her side, heavily and without a hint of grace. It tugged on her thin arm as if it wanted to be set down, and she obeyed its wishes. It made a dull clunk as she set it on the stone floor, and her skirt rustled as she sat down beside it. Her tiny shoulders sank. She'd come a long way—she must be at least in the fourth cellar—and now she was going to have to go right back up. There was nothing but blackness outside of the eerie shadows cast by her lamp. Swallowing her fear (_no fear!_) she pulled her skirts under her legs and shrank back against the wall. She wasn't sure what exactly she was afraid of (_no fear!_), since, as she'd told the other girls, the Ghost was friends with her mother. She repeated that inwardly, a mantra, as she stood up again, stooping to pick up her light.

She literally trudged back the way she had come, dragging her feet slowly and dramatically. Maybe if she made enough show of exhaustion, God would take pity and transport her magically to the foyer.

Two minutes of trudging passed, and she gave up on that plan.

What had she really planned on doing? She'd told the others that she would prove his existance—just how she was going to do that she'd never considered. _I should have brought a net_, she thought, and giggled at her own joke. But no, if she were to catch the Opera Ghost in a net and take him back up to the foyer, he wouldn't be able to leave Maman any more of those wonderful sweets that always ended up in her posession.

Maybe he could have written something for her to show the other girls, to prove his existance. When she was sick and couldn't go to ballet rehersal, her mother had written her a note of excusal. The Ghost could write her a note of existance. _Dear girls, I do exist, so stop picking on my good friend, Mademoiselle Meg. Sincerely, OG._ That was how he signed his notes. This was privileged information that only she, Maman, and M. Debienne and M. Poligny knew. And also Jammes, La Sorelli, Angelique, Brigette, Cerise, Gabrielle, Nichole, Simone, Virginie and Lucille, but they weren't actually supossed to.

A sound behind her pulled her harshly from her thoughts. She whipped around, the light from the lantern bouncing across the walls of the narrow passageway. Her wide eyes darted to and fro, searching frantically for the source of the sound. Her breath caught in her throat at a glimpse of movement, just outside the circle of light created by her lamp. Her flat chest heaved as the thing came closer…a cat.

She exhaled heavily. A cat. That was all. She had never been so relieved to see an animal in all her life. Crouching, she called to it. "Kitty, kitty…". It seemed intrigued by her presence, but ran in the opposite direction at the first sign of her moving toward it. She moaned in annoyance and jumped up to follow it. "Kitty, where are you?"

She stopped jogging when she realized that she was, for one, not going to find the cat in the extreme darkness of the cellars, and two, heading back down into the depths of the opera house. With a sigh of resignation, she turned once more on her heel and headed back up to where she'd come from.

Suddenly and without warning, she felt a rope tightening around her neck. She tried to cry out, but there was no time. She saw the passage fall away from her vision as she was yanked backwards onto the floor. Her thick blonde curls did nothing to cushion the fall, and her head slammed into the stone floor with a sickening crack. Her eyes welled up as she rushed her hands to her throat. She had to get the rope off, but it was pulled so tight that her fingers could not fit between it and her own skin. As she gasped for air, her hands crawled over her neck, looking for some weakness in the rope. Her hair had been caught at the back, and she thrust her fingers under the rope there, the only space she could find. Just as she began to pull it away from her tender skin, it was pulled so tight it even hurt the fingers she'd managed to wedge under it. Now fully unable to use her hands as well, she attempted and failed once more to cry out in distress as she felt herself being turned onto her front.

Her lantern had smashed, and she was in total darkness. Her tiny body was racked with dry sobs as her face was pressed to the cold floor and the rope continued to constrict about her neck. She writhed, suddenly understanding what a fish on a hook must feel like. She had been literally reeled in by some unknown attacker and was fast being deprived of oxygen.

Her blood ran cold as she felt hands on her ribcage. Bony fingers grasped her torso, holding her down to the floor. She felt a hand in her hair, pulling at her curls. Her head was pulled up slightly from the floor, and she finally let out a desperate cry, the first sound she'd managed make throughout the attack. To her immense surprise, she heard above her what sounded like a gasped, "Giry!"

At once she felt the rope around her neck loosen. She breathed in the musty cellar air, thinking it to be the most precious thing she'd ever come across. She pulled her hands out from where they had been captive about her neck, and began to push herself off the ground. They collapsed beneath her and she laid back down. Finally, real sobs escaped her, tears rolling down her cheeks and onto the floor. The same bony hands lifted her head surprisingly gently and removed the rope. As her assailant moved away, she curled into a fetal position, sobbing tremendously and gasping in the air as if she couldn't get enough. She wrapped her arms around herself and simply cried.

When her sobs became whimpers and she felt sure that she was once again alone, she sat up in a daze. She felt mildly confused by her surroundings, as if she had been asleep, but she was quite sure that she had been entirely conscious. Her eyes were sore and puffy, but to her surpise, she could see. It took her a moment to realize that her lantern had been fixed. No—it wasn't her lantern, it was a completely different lantern set on the floor next to her, along with several matches and a small cup of water. Looking and listening for movement around her and deciding that there was none, she pulled herself shakily to her feet. She stared at the lantern, matches and water, as if they would announce to her how they had come to be there. They didn't.

Her body ached as she reached down for the lamp. Her dry throat longed for the cool water, but she wasn't about to go near that. _I'm not that stupid_, she thought. Still, all the evidence suggested that whoever had left it there had just saved her life. _No_, she reminded herself somberly, _he didn't save my life, he spared it._ She stared at the water, then peered into the darkness of the tunnel. She was utterly alone. No person, no cat, and no Ghost.

She attempted to clear her parched throat, making more of a hacking sound in the process. "Umm…thank…thank you…I…"—_Who am I talking to?_—"…yes."

Satisfied that the darkness had accepted her acknowledgement, she turned on shaky legs to go. She'd gone only five paces when she turned and went back. Picking the water up carefully and turning once again to leave, she began preparing her speech. _See, the Ghost does exist…he gave me this cup of water…_

**The End.**


End file.
